


While the Nightingale Sang Unheard

by bladespark



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Adorable, First Time, Fluff, I Love You, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, miracleing clothes off, that statue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-19 17:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladespark/pseuds/bladespark
Summary: Six thousand years is a very long time, but angels and demons aren't supposed to love each other, so it's no wonder it took them a while to admit to it.  In a way it's a miracle that they've done so at all.  In another way it's a complete inevitability.  Certainly the events that proceed when Crowley finally invites Aziraphale back to his place for some after-dinner drinks are something very like inevitable.  And perhaps something rather like ineffable, too.Shameless smut!  And also loving fluff, because, well... How could I NOT with these two? (And lots of rambling aimlessly, because I am me, and because they have got it bad and I can't help but think about whatthey'rethinking about each other.)





	1. Chapter 1

“That was _delightful_.” Aziraphale leaned back in his chair with a replete sigh.

Crowley, who was doing something that could technically be called “leaning back” but was probably more properly categorized as “lounging”, deposited his now-empty champagne glass amid the remnants of their meal and flashed Aziraphale one of his quicksilver smiles. They were always brief things, there and gone in an instant, as if he couldn’t bring himself to admit that he was actually happy. Happiness was no doubt insufficiently stylish.

“Yeah, it was.” Crowley frowned thoughtfully, lifted his hand, in a brief, oddly awkward gesture, dropped it, then lifted it again, obviously wanting to say something else, though Aziraphale had no idea what. “The whole world ought to have a longer celebration than this, though,” he finally said.

Aziraphale tilted his head, regarding Crowley with an indulgent smile, and lifted his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“That’s what we toasted, right? The world. All of it. But we’ve been here what, an hour and a half? That’s not long, to celebrate the whole world. Come back to my place for a nightcap, why don’t you? I don’t have any of that Chateu whatever that you’re so fond of, but I have a bottle or two of something or other.”

Aziraphale tried not to let his surprise be too obvious, but he was certain it was. He’d only been to Crowley’s apartment the once, and that had been because at the time they both thought he had nowhere else to go. Crowley had been in his bookshop all the time, of course, but that was different. While Aziraphale did in fact live there, it was not a sanctuary in the way that Crowley’s apartment was. The public nature of bookshops made that impossible. Crowley’s invitation seemed somehow unlikely, but Aziraphale couldn’t stop the warm, even delighted smile that began to spread across his face as he recognized the closer intimacy this represented.

_Perhaps it’s time to say it at last_ , he thought to himself, and felt his heart begin to beat faster. It was strange how, even after six thousand years of incarnation, such bodily responses could still be overwhelming.

Crowley cleared his throat, his own eyebrows going up in inquiry, and Aziraphale realized that he hadn’t responded. “Oh! Yes! That sounds lovely! Please!”

The quicksilver smile reappeared, and lasted just a little bit longer this time.

****

“‘Something or other,’ you said.” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, and his hands very, very careful as he brushed the dust from the elaborate bottle with its four embossed fleur-de-lis roundels and its little row of glass studs. Aziraphale was more a wine man than a cognac connoisseur, but he knew this bottle all the same. “This is Remy Martin Louis XIII. The original. From eighteen-fifty. They blend a tiny fragment of this with more modern vintages and sell it for hundreds. It’s been impossible to get for ages.”

Crowley chuckled. “It’s not as if it’s that impressive, angel. I picked it up when it was new. I’ve hung onto it for a while, that’s all. Tonight seemed like an appropriate occasion. You know, what with saving the whole world and surviving the forces of Heaven and Hell, sort of thing.”

“Indeed,” breathed Aziraphale as he reverently set the bottle on the desk in front of him.

Crowley plonked a pair of cut-crystal tumblers down and snatched up the bottle with shocking casualness, but Aziraphale didn’t protest, he let the demon pour them each a generous double of the hundred-and-seventy-year-old booze.

Crowley took a long swig of his, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but sip the drink with slow, indulgent gastronomic pleasure, savoring the smooth, subtle warmth of it.

“Mmm. Splendid,” he said as he regarded the amber filling his glass. “Simply splendid. I am honored that you would share this with me.” He looked at Crowley and gave a swift wave to the room they sat in, adding it to the things being shared. Crowley was sprawling bonelessly in his throne, while Aziraphale perched in a chair that he was fairly certain hadn’t existed when he first stepped into the room. He’d caught it appearing from the corner of his eye as he walked in, conjured at the last second for him to sit in, no doubt. It was a comfortable, antique armchair, just the kind of thing he preferred, and nearly as massive as Crowley’s throne.

“There’s nobody else I'd rather share any of it with,” said Crowley, flashing another of those smiles. Aziraphale felt it as a stab in the heart, rather like Cupid’s arrow of myth. It was both joy and pain together, and he once again thought, _I really must say it tonight…_

Aziraphale took another slow sip, savoring the feel of the cognac burning across his tongue, imagining it burning away the words he didn't know how to voice, at least for now. He savored quite a lot of the stuff over the next few hours. In fact well before midnight arrived the bottle had been emptied, and both angel and demon were definitely drunk, despite the considerable tolerance they both shared.

Aziraphale, setting down his finally empty tumbler, looked around the room again. Crowley nearly tossed his glass onto the desk and somehow managed to sprawl even more across his throne. “So, ah, so…” he said, slurring ever so slightly.

Not wanting the night to end, and certainly not so abruptly, Aziraphale fumbled for something to say. “So. Yes.” He looked around the room, groping after some excuse to stick around just a little longer. Finally he said, “I didn’t get much of a look at the place last time I was here. Tired after saving the world, you know. Perhaps I could get a tour?”

“Sure. Tour. Why not?” Crowley levered himself up out of the chair, doing it gracefully somehow despite the ridiculous sideways sprawl, and sauntered across the room to the hall that led to the rest of the apartment. Aziraphale, following, couldn’t help but think that the way Crowley moved was sinful in and of itself. He didn’t need to do anything other than walk in order to tempt men.

_And here I am, a stuffy old thing, as dusty and boring as the worst of my books_ , Aziraphale thought. _I couldn’t raise a sinful thought in an incubus. I will tell him, somehow. I must after all that’s happened. But I’m sure it will come to nothing._

He thought of how he’d felt, trying to be Crowley. Of the thrilling freedom of being able to be that bold. To have dared to ask Hell to give him a rubber duck. To have demanded a petty miracle of Michael! It had been wonderful. Yet ticking through the back of his mind all that time had been the fact that Crowley truly _was_ like that, daring and brave and clever every moment of every day, while Aziraphale had only been able to keep it up for a little while. How could somebody that amazing want somebody like him? He still didn’t truly understand why Crowley had continued to seek him out down the centuries.

“Here’s the plants. I keep them all in good order. They know better than to wilt or droop.” Crowley gave the little atrium with its skylight above a stern look, sliding his shades down to the point of his nose in order to sweep his serpent’s gaze up and down them. Aziraphale could swear that some of them trembled as he did.

“Now, in here I have the shower and bath, which are of course the best I could get, while the other end of the hall there leads to my bedroom, where you’ve very definitely been,” said Crowley, sardonically, but Aziraphale wasn’t looking at either bathroom or bedroom, he was looking at the statue that stood on a plinth in the junction between them. He’d seen it before, but he hadn’t really _seen_ it, only shuffled past it in a tired daze. The fact that it was two angels, or perhaps an angel and a demon had been obvious at the time, but now he found that the pair seemed to have awfully familiar features. And seemed to be doing something awfully…interesting.

“What are you looking at?” said Crowley, his tone suddenly defensive.

Aziraphale, feeling his cheeks heating furiously, blurted out, “Crowley, why is there a statue of you and I, ah…” He slid to a verbal and mental halt, completely unable to voice the words, “Screwing each other in some sort of fetishistic fashion,” and even the tamer, “Carrying on together” still made his tongue stumble.

Crowley looked over his glasses again, his brows drawn together in irritation. He flapped his hands vaguely. “It’s _not_ you and I. It’s symbolic. A _metaphor_ , you know? It’s being all artistic and such. Good and evil, struggling.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows went up nearly to his hairline. “Struggling.” He regarded the statue in almost hypnotic fascination, and found his mouth somehow saying, “I see that evil is coming out on top.” His cheeks flamed as he said it, and he hoped that Crowley wouldn’t notice.

“Well of course.” Crowley was suddenly grinning, his expression as wickedly sinful as his walk. Though were his own cheeks a little red? “Our side is the better one, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale couldn’t keep from frowning at that. “We don’t have a side anymore, remember?”

The grin vanished even more swiftly than it had come, and the glasses were pushed back up Crowley’s nose, his eyes vanishing as well. “I know. Guess I should get rid of it, really. We called off the war between good and evil, after all. No more struggling.” He looked at the statue, or at least he probably did, he faced it. Then he slid his glasses down and gave a sidelong look to Aziraphale again, and a sly smile with it. “Though I don’t know, it’s…sentimental. It does look just a little bit like me, on top there.”

With his heart suddenly pounding again, Aziraphale found himself imagining being beneath Crowley in a way that angels were _not_ supposed to imagine. The thing that had been hovering on his lips all night, the thing that had lurked nearly that close for years before, the thing he had felt for he wasn’t even sure how long, surged in his veins. He _had_ to say it. Yet saying it came with terror, for though he knew Crowley so well that he’d seamlessly imitated him in front of a crowd of demons that Crowley had worked with for thousands of years, he did _not_ know how Crowley would respond to this one thing, this one word.

The word had appeared in nineteen forty-one, when Crowley had handed over a satchel of precious books, saved for no better reason than to please Aziraphale, and the angel had thought, all unbidden, _God above, I love this demon._ But that had been merely the arrival of the word for it, the feeling itself had started sometime before that, perhaps even on that very first meeting, six thousand years ago, when Crowley had turned Aziraphale’s entire universe upside down with the suggestion that perhaps he, the angel, had done evil and the demon had done good.

“Penny for your thoughts, angel?” said Crowley, sardonically, looking over his glasses as he lounged against the wall.

“Oh! Oh, well… The statue… Ah…” Aziraphale fumbled for something to say. He didn’t want to say that one thing, that one word. He felt his head spinning, and had the thought that he was either too drunk for this, or not _nearly_ drunk enough.

But to Hell with it. Or to Heaven, for that matter! They’d lived through the end of the world! They’d stopped it together, or at least contributed to its being stopped. He’d literally gone to Hell for Crowley, and Crowley had gone to Heaven for him. After all that, Crowley deserved the truth.

“What about it?” Crowley’s glasses were still low on his nose, his eyebrows raised in jest, his cheeks touched faintly with pink.

“It _is_ us,” said Aziraphale. “You know perfectly well that it’s us. It’s a symbol, but it has nothing to do with good and evil, only with you and me.”

Crowley blinked at Aziraphale, and his cheeks went from pink to crimson. “Ah. Aheh. It isn’t really… I mean, I didn’t buy it because I, ah…think you like… Er… I’m not saying that I want to…”

Aziraphale smiled, suddenly finding comfort in Crowley’s flustered waffling. He lifted his chin slightly, gathered every last bit of determination he could, and said, “I love you, you know.”

“Well, it’s— Wait, _what?_ ” Crowley took his glasses off entirely, staring at Aziraphale.

Feeling suddenly suffused with it, Aziraphale said, beatifically, “I love you. I love you in every possible way, with every last one of those words the Greeks came up with for it.”

“What, even storge?” blurted Crowley, his voice incredulous.

Aziraphale laughed, a peal of pure delight. “When you’ve done something particularly daft and I feel like I should be sending you to your room to think about it, yes, even storge.” He stepped closer to Crowley, his hands coming up to rest on the lapels of the demon’s jacket. He had a sudden vivid recollection of how his heart had pounded fit to burst when Crowley had slammed him against the wall in the old satanic nunnery. He gripped the jacket and pushed Crowley somewhat less violently but with no less strength against the wall of the hallway. Then he pressed a brief but very firm kiss on Crowley’s lips

“Even eros,” he said softly when he pulled back from the dazed, stunned demon.

“But you can’t. Angels don’t,” said Crowley, his face twisted in confused shock.

“Can’t I? I believe I just said I did,” said Aziraphale, firmly.

Crowley scowled. “Don’t toy with me, angel. Don’t dangle this in front of me. Angels don’t feel that kind of love.”

“Do demons, Crowley?”

“Well, I mean, of course we do. How could we properly tempt humans into sins of lust if we couldn’t feel…that sort of thing?”

“Demons are only fallen angels. Surely falling doesn’t allow you to feel things that we angels can’t?” Aziraphale smiled. “Angels are beings of love, Crowley my dear. We are made of it, and while we do not have a _need_ for eros in the way that humans do, we can _choose_ to feel it.” Aziraphale gathered every bit of his heart and looked deeply into Crowley’s serpentine eyes. “I have chosen to feel it for you.”

Crowley licked his lips, still pinned against the wall, his face only inches away. “Oh. Well… Ah…”

“I promise you, I ‘dangle’ nothing I am not genuinely offering.” Aziraphale swallowed hard and loosened his grip on the demon’s jacket, taking a single step back. “But what of you? What do you feel about me after all these years?”

****

Crowley was having one of the strangest evenings he’d ever had, and given what his life had been like lately, that was saying something.

Inviting Aziraphale over had been a sudden impulse, a seemingly random whim, but the instant the statue had come up, he’d realized that he’d betrayed himself by doing it. Crowley had been thinking terrible, lustful thoughts about the wonderfully, perfectly—perhaps even ineffably—angelic Aziraphale since the moment the angel had sheltered him from the first rain.

And now apparently somehow Aziraphale had kissed him? That surely had been a hallucination. His declaration of love could perhaps be believed on the fronts of philia and agapae, though some deep, wounded part of Crowley—the part that remembered loving God once, long, long ago, before what felt alternately like proper justice and total betrayal had sent him tumbling down to Hell—didn’t want to trust those either. But _eros?_ Lust? From an _angel?_

Aziraphale was above such things, beyond such things, surely. Crowley thought, then, of what it had been like to try to be Aziraphale, of how he’d worked so hard to project that serenity that was so difficult to shake, to show the way profound gentleness lay above a steel-hard nature beneath. That was the essence of Aziraphale, kindness laid over determination, seeming weakness over boundless strength, charity over integrity, softness over hardness in every imaginable way. _That_ marvelous goodness had kissed _him?_ No. Impossible.

It had to be a dream. He’d never actually dreamed, though he did sleep now and again, when he was bored, or just to get that lazy waking up feeling in the morning when he had nothing to do the next day. But he’d never dreamed. So this couldn’t be a dream. Yet it certainly couldn’t be real!

He could feel his heart thundering, and he leaned against the wall, not able to straighten himself at all, even though Aziraphale had let go of him and stepped back after kissing him.

Kissing him!

This _had_ to be some kind of hallucination, it just had to be. He had hallucinated a few times back in the sixties. LSD worked on demons just as well as alcohol did. Had something been somehow slipped to him? Had there been something in that bottle of ridiculously fancy cognac? He’d bought it thinking of Aziraphale, and saved it thinking of him too…

Oh God. Oh Satan. Oh _something_ , whatever it was he was going to swear by, Aziraphale was still looking at him, expecting some kind of answer. Crowley’s knees were weak. His head spun and his stomach twisted. He felt like he might faint. Curse the reactions of corporeal bodies!

He couldn’t possibly answer. There was no way he could form his lips around the words, “I love you.” No. No. Absolutely not.

There was no way he could form his lips around any sort of, “I’m sorry, I don’t love you,” either, though.

Utterly panicked, Crowley’s mind spun in hopeless circles. Aziraphale, watching at first with a small smile, slowly lost it, his face falling into uncertainty, then hardening, putting on that familiar mask of stoicism, though something about his eyes was still vulnerable, almost wounded.

“I do of course understand if you do not return my affections,” he said stiffly, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

Crowley felt a stab of pain at that. His refusal to answer had hurt his angel.

His angel. When had Aziraphale become _his_ angel? Confused attraction had been there since the very beginning, lust and admiration and curiosity. But when had Crowley started to think of Aziraphale as being specially connected to him? Had that begun when they’d started their little “arrangement”? Certainly it had been cemented in his mind when Aziraphale had rejected an overture to be just a little closer in the sixties. That wouldn’t have stung the way it had if he’d hadn’t thought of Aziraphale as his angel by then.

He’d felt that pain, but he was dealing it and worse to Aziraphale now, and it was all too much. His cowardly heart wanted to hide it, to go on with the way things had been, to be safe, but he couldn’t do it, not in the face of Aziraphale’s pain, not to the sound of the tears that threatened in his voice.

“I do,” he said, almost whispering it. “I love you too.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s stiff expression melted into warmth, a smile blossoming on his face. Then he was kissing Crowley again, lingeringly this time, in a way that somehow settled Crowley’s twisting stomach and yet made his heart race even faster at the same time. He found his arms coming up around Aziraphale, holding him close, almost clinging to him as their lips and tongues twined together.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing faster than they had been. Aziraphale, flushed and looking extremely flustered, said, “Ah, I gather that your ‘I love you too’ does also include eros, then?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You think?”

“Well, er…”

“And all that other stuff too, I guess,” added Crowley. “Eros was the easy part. I’ve felt that since, well…”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows went up fractionally in question. “Since?”

“Since the garden. Since the beginning of things.”

“Oh. Oh my. It, ah, I’m afraid that part came a little bit later for me.”

Crowley couldn’t resist asking. “When?”

“Well, er…”

“Hmm?” Crowley arched his own eyebrows, insisting on the question.

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. “To be honest, I think it was in France. The way my heart raced when I heard your voice… I mean, it was going like anything because I was so afraid of being discorporated, but somehow it beat even faster when you came to save me. I first thought of kissing you then, certainly.”

Crowley nearly laughed. “More than a hundred and fifty years you thought about kissing me, and yet you still told me that I go to fast?”

“Oh, well, you know…” Aziraphale gave a little cough. “I mean, it took me several thousand years to admit that an angel could feel lust in the first place. I wasn’t quite ready to embrace it, then.”

“And you are now?” Crowley wanted to make that a joke, but it came out seriously, somehow. He needed the reassurance that Aziraphale wasn’t going to walk this back after only getting a few kisses.

Aziraphale looked him directly in the eye and said, “I am.”

Crowley tipped his chin down, putting on his most serious face, though he felt a flicker of teasing wickedness suddenly as he did. He wasn’t ready to be confident yet, exactly, but the fear seemed to slowly be seeping out of him. “You do know that eros indicates more than just kissing, I hope?”

“Oh my. I… Er… Yes, of course.”

Crowley bit back a snicker. “Of course. Such as…?”

“Oh dear. Well… I mean, I know there _is_ more. There’s a small section in the Kama Sutra that rather suggests that men, ah… That is, er…”

“You haven’t the foggiest how actual sex goes, do you?” The snicker couldn’t be held back this time.

“In _theory_ … I’m just rather lacking in practice.” Aziraphale shifted again, looking even more flushed and flustered, but then he gave Crowley one of his beseeching looks. “I’m, well… I’m rather hoping you could teach me? I’m sure with all the lustful tempting you’ve done that you’re much more experienced than I am. I’ve only read a few books.”

Crowley felt himself flushing again, and looked away from Aziraphale. “Well, er, I mean I’ve done the tempting, but that’s more, you know, conceptual than participatory, usually. Demons merely give humans _ideas_ , sort of thing. So, well, I haven’t exactly _done_ it, as such.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale looked rather nonplussed. Then he smiled suddenly, that warm, broad smile of delight that made his eyes positively twinkle. “Then I suppose we shall have to learn together.”

Crowley couldn’t keep an answering smile off of his face. “I suppose so.”

“So, shall we?” Aziraphale gestured to the bedroom, where the open door allowed a glimpse of Crowley’s elegantly luxurious bed. Last time Aziraphale had been here, Crowley had miracled up a spare bed for him. Then he’d miracled it away after, with a sense of sadness about not needing it anymore because surely that night had been a singular thing. He didn’t need it right now, though, either.

Crowley found himself swallowing in sudden nervousness that bordered on terror. What the hell was he doing? _Something you’ve wanted to do for six thousand years,_ he told himself. _Shut up and get in there._ “Right, let’s,” he managed to say, and sauntered into the room. He was gratified, when he reached the bed and turned to look back, to find Aziraphale still standing in the hall, with his eyes fixed somewhere around hip level. Good, he’d actually pulled the saunter off. “My eyes are up here, angel,” he said, grinning.

Aziraphale actually jumped and yanked his gaze up, much to Crowley’s delight, but then he smiled back and followed Crowley into the bedroom.

Crowley threw himself back onto the bed in a hopefully relaxed sprawl, his heart still pounding as Aziraphale walked over. The angel halted, looking down at Crowley. Crowley saw him swallow hard, betraying his own nervousness, but then he lifted his chin slightly in a gesture that Crowley knew well, his features setting in an expression of stubborn determination. Crowley felt a rush of love just to see it.

Aziraphale made a little head-to-toe gesture, and this time instead of changing his clothing, it removed it, leaving him standing there completely nude.

Crowley felt his mouth go dry at the sight. Aziraphale was completely perfect, softness laid over hardness here too; a roundness that begged to be held, caressed, and cuddled, but a solidity that suggested Crowley might not be guaranteed to end up on top if any “struggling” took place. The cock between his legs, framed with just a little bit of curly blond fluff, was already partially erect, and Crowley couldn’t keep from staring at it hungrily. He wanted to touch every inch of Aziraphale’s wonderful corporeal form, but he wanted to touch there most of all.

“So. Ah. Here I am.” Aziraphale shifted awkwardly, adorably. Crowley wanted to get up out of the bed and pounce on him. He licked his lips, looking Aziraphale up and down again.

“Nice,” he finally said.

Aziraphale beamed. “Why thank you! Now… May I?” He tilted his head to the side inquisitively.

Crowley swallowed hard. Fuck, why was this so terrifying? He’d only fantasized about it endlessly for six thousand years, that was all. But he gathered the courage somehow to nod. “Sure.”

Aziraphale reached out and ran a hand over Crowley, just barely not touching him, from neck to knees, and his clothes melted away behind it, leaving him sprawled nude on the bed. He saw Aziraphale’s eyes sweep up and down his lanky, angular form, and then Aziraphale licked his lips and said, “My, I think somebody is, ah, just a little bit happy to see me? I believe that’s the phrase?” His cheeks were flushed, but he was still smiling.

Crowley felt his own cheeks burning scarlet as he glanced down at his undeniably raging erection. “I am, yeah.” Then something worrying occurred to him. “‘Little’ doesn’t mean it’s too small, does it? I mean, I could fix it if you didn’t like it…”

“You are _perfect_ just as you are,” said Aziraphale, and he put his knee on the bed, bending over Crowley to press another firm kiss on him. He was leaning on one hand as he did, but the other reached out and trailed down Crowley’s chest. The touch was electrifying, possibly even more so than the kiss. Crowley dared to reach out in turn, to finally—finally!—let his fingers explore the warm softness of Aziraphale’s skin. Next thing he knew Aziraphale was lying alongside him, their bodies touching all along the length of them. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, feeling like he was on fire. The angel’s touch was like holy water, but in a good way, searing through his entire being.

He kept his hips shifted back as he pressed closer, not wanting to push that on Aziraphale just yet, but the angel’s wandering hands soon found their way to it anyway, one sliding down over Crowley’s hip and then dipping inward, fingertips just brushing against the hardness there gently, hesitantly.

Crowley moaned. He couldn’t help himself. The shameless, revealing, absurd sound escaped him before he even realized he might make it.

Aziraphale chuckled softly, a thing that was somehow not mocking, and drew his fingertips up the length of Crowley’s cock. “Fascinating,” he murmured.

“What, you’re going to study my dick like a book now?” said Crowley, nearly laughing.

“Well, do recall that I don’t quite know what I’m meant to do with it. So some study may be required.” Aziraphale stroked it again, tracing fingertips over it delicately. Crowley managed to not moan this time, though the touch was incredible. He felt his fears melting away. This was going to be wonderful. There was no way his angel would hurt him. They both wanted to show each other how much they loved each other, that was all. And speaking of showing…

“Why don’t I demonstrate a few things? I haven’t practiced, exactly, but I’ve spent six thousand years putting sinful acts into the minds of men. I think I can manage.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a swift, soft kiss, then lay back on the bed with his arms open and said, “Be my guest, then.”

Crowley propped himself up on his elbow and surveyed Aziraphale, letting his hand follow his eyes, sliding over chest and stomach and downward further to finally touch the angel’s cock. It was still half-erect, and Crowley set himself the task of bringing it to full mast, curling his fingers around the soft-and-hard heat of it and stroking.

“O-oh my,” stammered Aziraphale, drawing in a deep breath. “That is… Oh my!”

Aziraphale’s cock hardened in his hand, and Crowley felt a sense of pleasure that was both deep and thrilling as he felt it, as he heard Aziraphale’s gasps and exclamations. Daring to do the least of the things he’d long fantasized about, Crowley shifted, repositioning himself, then ducked his head and licked Aziraphale’s cock.

“Oh!”

Aziraphale’s cry was one of shocked bliss, which gave Crowley an almost smug feeling of satisfaction about having caused it. He was in nearly as much bliss himself as he took in the taste of Aziraphale’s cock. It was very like the scent of him—sweet spice, incense and musk—but with more of the musk, and a hint of sweat-salt to it as well. It was gloriously arousing, a thousand times better than it had been in any of his fantasies. He licked again, drawing his tongue up the whole length of Aziraphale’s cock, and thrilled when the angel moaned in response.

He tried taking the head of Aziraphale’s marvelous cock into his mouth, and that got a helpless, breathless gasp, followed by another “Oh!” as he worked his tongue along the underside of it. Crowley closed his eyes, concentrating entirely on other sensations as he sucked Aziraphale’s cock. The angel began to writhe, his hands gripping the bedsheets.

“Oh, Crowley. Oh, stars above! Oh, sweet, merciful almighty. What _is_ this? I can’t be feeling this. It’s too much. It’s too… I… I… Oh, _Crowley!_ ”

Two things happened in the instant that Aziraphale cried Crowley’s name. One was that a bolt of lightning struck Crowley’s apartment building, despite the night sky above being completely devoid of clouds. This fortunately did only minimal damage, though the power went out, plunging the apartment into blackness. The other was that Crowley’s mouth was suddenly flooded with a gush of truly vile-tasting fluid, and despite how much he’d been enjoying himself only a moment before, and how much he was—on many levels—still enjoying himself, he couldn’t keep from pulling back and spitting as Aziraphale came with all the volume and energy of several centuries of pent-up desire.

Dim city light filtering in through the windows was now the only illumination as Crowley looked down at Aziraphale, who was still shuddering and panting as the last few drops of thick white semen pumped out from his cock. Some of it was on Crowley, and some of it was on the bed, but most of it was all over Aziraphale himself.

Aziraphale, his expression blissfully dazed, slowly opened his eyes and gazed up at Crowley. “Oh my. That was beyond description.”

Crowley thought his heart would melt as he looked down at Aziraphale. He’d done that. He’d given his angel that look of pure bliss, bliss as great as any he’d ever gotten from the finest foods in all the world, and perhaps even greater.

Aziraphale sighed deeply, then blinked and looked down at himself. “Oh dear.”

“Made a bit of a mess, there,” said Crowley, unable to resist the sardonic comment. “And shorted out the lights too, looks like.”

“Well, that’s easily mended,” said Aziraphale, and with a wave of his hand the mess was miracled away, including the aftertaste that had been lingering in Crowley’s mouth. He was almost disappointed at that, despite how unpleasant the flavor had been. “I can get the lights too…”

“Nah. No need.” Crowley smiled, and Aziraphale smiled back seraphically.

Then Aziraphale sat up and reached out to Crowley, cupping the back of his head, his fingers twisting through Crowley’s short hair, and pulling the demon in for another kiss. “Thank you,” said Aziraphale gently when he pulled back. “That truly was beyond words. I rather see why humans get so obsessed with it. It was amazing, and all the more so for it being you doing it.”

“Er, well, you know…” Crowley cleared his throat awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

“Now, perhaps it’s your turn,” said Aziraphale, and he pushed Crowley firmly back onto the bed as he said it.

Crowley’s heart was suddenly pounding frantically again as he looked up at his angel. There was something like fear tangled up in it, something that made him think of the the way “awful” had “awe” in it, something amazing and terrifying all at once. Then Aziraphale was kissing him again, his lips soft, but the kiss hard and insistent and full of that same feeling. 

“Now… Ah… Do you have any tips for me about how to return the favor?” said Aziraphale, not at all nervously, but with an adorable little crease of thought between his brows that Crowley wanted to sit up and kiss.

“You don’t have to, really.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows went up. “You don’t want me to?”

“I didn’t say that!” said Crowley, perhaps a little too loudly. He calmed himself. “Er. It’s only that it tastes terrible. I wouldn’t want you to…” He couldn’t quite find the words to finish that thought, but he knew the concept that went into the space. He didn’t want Aziraphale to suffer even the smallest possible thing, even a bad taste. He wanting nothing but happiness and perfection for his angel.

Aziraphale was nearly laughing as he replied, “I am not doing this for the gastronomic experience, dearest Crowley.”

_Dearest_ Crowley. That phrase was almost stunning. It took an effort to summon enough thought to come up with any response other than ridiculous mooning at the angel still bending over him. Finally Crowley made a vague gesture and said, “I do want…you know, you. But a hand job would be fine. More than fine.” God, Satan, and whatever the fuck else he was swearing by now, Aziraphale’s touch would definitely be more than fine.

“A ‘hand job.’” Aziraphale shook his head, still smiling. “That sounds so…crude.”

“It’s sex. It’s crude by definition, my angel.” Crowley slapped his hand over his mouth as he realized what had slipped out there. He’d just called Aziraphale _his_ angel, out loud. Oh fuck. Would he notice? Would he be upset? Of course he’d notice, Crowley had just put his hand over his mouth. Bollocks.

To Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale smiled a meltingly warm smile and reached out to cup Crowley’s cheek. “Oh Crowley. Your angel?”

Crowley averted his eyes, flushed and embarrassed all over again. “Well…yes? Always did call you ‘angel’ but there are lots of angels out there. You’re the only one who’s mine.”

“Oh _Crowley_. How marvelous. I do love you so.”

Crowley felt something deep and soft and warm within him, fluttering. It was indescribable, and wonderful, and the only words he had for it were, “I kinda love you too, my angel.”

Aziraphale leaned down and kissed him again, long and sweet, and he was still smiling like that, fit to melt Crowley into a puddle, when he pulled back from it. “Now, my very own singular demon, I want to show you how much I love you.”

Crowley couldn’t bring himself to keep this level of sweetness going, though part of him wanted to. The opening was there, though, and he instinctively pounced on it. “Can’t wait to get your hands all over this, hmm?” he said, managing a lascivious grin.

Aziraphale laughed, as Crowley had hoped he would. “Well, in fact I rather can’t, yes. So why don’t I?” He stroked Aziraphale’s cheek again, touching his serpent tattoo, and then caressed down from there, lying close beside him, his body a soft warmth against Crowley’s as his hand explored the demon’s lean body.

Crowley tipped his head back, his eyes half closed, reveling in that touch. He could lie here and let Aziraphale caress him for all eternity. That would be better than any reward Heaven could possibly offer the faithful.

It didn’t seem like Aziraphale was feeling inclined to be so sedate, though, for his hand rather swiftly began to drift lower, and soon his fingers were curling around Crowley’s cock. Crowley moaned again, he couldn’t help himself. Aziraphale stroked up and down it, his touch light, almost delicate. Crowley closed his eyes, pleasure racing through him. Fuck, that was amazing.

“What else should I do?”

“Just keep doing that,” gasped out Crowley, panting hard. The thing that was slowly building in him was indescribable. He had the same thought that Aziraphale had voiced a moment ago. No wonder humans got so obsessed with this. It was ridiculously, impossibly, unbelievably good, and it kept getting better!

Aziraphale was stroking faster now, his hand sliding along Crowley’s cock, and Crowley felt his whole body tensing as whatever the impossible thing he felt was built further. How could it still be getting better? “Oh, fuck,” he moaned. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck…”

“Oh dear, should I stop?” Aziraphale paused for a moment and the thing stopped building, even began to ebb ever so slightly.

“No! Please don’t!”

Aziraphale laughed, a little delighted peal, and began stroking again. Crowley moaned again, panting hard, that astonishing whatever it was building once more. It was too good, too much. His body was overwhelmed, overcome by it. Surely the force of all this _sensation_ would undo him, tear him apart, discorporate him? If it did, he still wouldn’t tell Aziraphale to stop. In fact he found his voice repeating, “Please,” again, then again, “Please! Oh fuck, angel, please, please, please! Fuck! Oh fuck, please!” It was ridiculous and pathetic and wonderful and none of that mattered because he couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t even think, all he could do was feel and babble and writhe and suddenly it broke over him, a crashing burst of ecstasy, and he shouted, “ _Aziraphale!_ ” because there was nothing else he could say that could possibly express the thing he felt in that moment.

Unfortunately the bliss was interrupted by a startled yelp from Aziraphale, and Crowley’s eyes snapped open to find that the bed was on fire. “Oh bugger.” He tried to gather his extremely scattered wits to miracle the flame out, but Aziraphale snapped his fingers first.

“Well. That was exciting.”

“Fuck yeah it was,” said Crowley, feeling completely suffused with a dazed, dreamy bliss that even fire couldn’t remotely dent. It wasn’t as if he could burn, after all, and ordinary fire wouldn’t hurt Aziraphale either. The scorched sheets could be replaced.

“So I did in the lights, and you’ve set the bed on fire. Nothing in the Kama Sutra mentioned either of those.” Aziraphale sounded almost offended.

Crowley laughed. “You’re an angel, my angel. I’m a demon. I just felt something that felt like it was going to discorporate me, it was so incredible. I’m surprised it only set the sheets on fire.”

Aziraphale laughed too, then. “I suppose I can take that as a compliment.” His smile was extremely self-satisfied as he added, “Now it appears to be you who has made a mess, Crowley, my love.”

“‘My Love.’” Crowley sighed deeply, blissfully. “I could get used to that. I think that’s even nicer than ‘dearest Crowley.’”

Aziraphale chuckled softly and stroked Crowley’s cheek again. “They are both quite true. But you _are_ really quite a mess. I think rather moreso than I was, even. Why don’t I take care of that?” A wave of his hand removed the cooling stickiness that Crowley had only barely bothered to register, and then he cuddled up beside the demon with a happy sigh.

“That really was pleasing.” Aziraphale paused, then added, “You know, I’m not certain you’ve ever called me by my name before.”

Crowley shrugged. “I wasn’t going to shout ‘oh god’ like they do in all the porn.”

Aziraphale snorted. “No, nor was I.” Then his smile turned mischievous, his eyes twinkling as he snuggled up to Crowley. “So does that mean you look up to me as your own personal Almighty?”

Crowley looked away, some of the pleasant haze fading a little. “I suppose you could say something like that. You’re certainly better than I am.”

“What?!” Aziraphale stared at Crowley from only inches away, his face a study in shock.

“You’re miles beyond me. It’s something beyond miracles that somebody like you could love somebody like me.”

“Oh Crowley…” Aziraphale suddenly looked almost on the verge of tears. “You are worthy of love. I sensed it around you early on, you know. The feeling of being loved. I’ve mentioned before that we angels can sense that. You were loved, and I think now… I think it was me, to be honest. I think I couldn’t let myself admit it, but I think I’ve loved you at least a little since the garden, since that very first day. It took until much later for me to say the word even to myself, but you are loved and worth loving. I’ve had the thought probably ten thousand times, over the centuries, that you must have been a magnificent angel before you fell, and I wish I’d known you then, but every single time I have that thought, I immediately have another thought, which is that you are _beyond_ magnificent the way you are now. I wouldn’t change one single thing about you.”

It was like being stabbed in the heart, somehow, like a breaking deep within, and Crowley, to his own shock, realized that he had tears standing in his eyes. “Aziraphale… My angel…”

“I honestly don’t know what someone like you could see in someone like me. You’re so bold, so creative, so fascinating and interesting and stylish. I’m just a dumpy, boring little fellow, tediously fussing over books. I don’t know how you could possibly love me, though I’m beyond pleased that you do.”

“But you… You’re so… You’re…” Crowley found himself making abortive hand gestures, as if to sketch the shape of Aziraphale’s obvious wonderfulness in the air. “You’re so perfect I couldn’t even be you properly for half an hour. The lot up in heaven only didn’t notice because they’re idiots. You’re… You’re just… You’re this thing, of all the strength I ever wished I could have, all the rightness and integrity, and I don’t mean that other lot’s perfunctory ‘goodness’, I mean _rightness_ , I mean something that’s better than good because it’s perfectly itself. You are perfectly yourself. You’re a core of iron covered in marshmallow. You’ve read every book ever written. You’re wonderful beyond words. You’re just…” He halted, gesturing again, struggling to find a way to sum up what he felt about Aziraphale. Finally he said, “You’re an angel who literally went to Hell for me. Nobody could be better than you, not in all the universe.”

“Oh Crowley,” said Aziraphale again and suddenly he was kissing Crowley once more, deep and sweet. Crowley kissed back, trying to put everything he felt into it, futile as that was.

“I love you,” said Aziraphale.

“I love you too,” was the only reply that Crowley could possibly give.

They lay together in the warm dark, with the scent of scorched sheets lingering in the air, for some time. Eventually, Aziraphale said, “So, ah… I’m given to understand that the ‘hand job’ I gave and the ‘blow job’ I believe it’s called? That you gave are not the only, ah, acts available to us?”

Crowley chuckled, feeling a rather instantaneous stir of renewed interest, and a related stirring in his loins. “They’re just the beginning, my angel.”

“Well then. Perhaps we could attempt one of the other methods?”

“I don’t have anything on my to-do list tonight but you,” said Crowley with a wink.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes and laughed fondly. “I do love you, so. We should have done this ages ago.”

“Eh. Now is good too.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, his eyes shining with love, and Crowley felt his heart melting all over again. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of that sight, that expression on Aziraphale’s face. How could he? He’d been seeing it for all these centuries without knowing it, after all, and he hadn’t gotten tired of it yet. “You’re right,” said Aziraphale. “Now is good. Now is very, very good indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the most fun I've had writing a fic in ages. SO MUCH FUN. These two are just ridiculously great to bounce off of each other, and their different approaches to what's basically the same emotions underneath were fascinating to explore. It was also great getting to reference all my favorite little bits from the show. And that statue! Lol. "Struggling" indeed. So yeah, way too much fun.
> 
> Though I suck at Crowley dialog. Aziraphale might as well be one of my own characters, at least as far as the way he talks goes, (I love me some overly-flowery, old-fashioned, posh diction!) but Crowley...augh. I tried! Hopefully it's not too bad. Hopefully the sex is hot. Hopefully the love is sweet. Hopefully people like it. <3 To anybody who's gotten this far, thanks for reading, in any case.
> 
> P.S. I have a small epilogue I might post to this. It's a completely different mood and I dunno if it actually belongs here, but it exists?
> 
> P.P.S. I am also already working on another, probably shorter, smutty sequel that delves a bit more into how I see their sexual chemistry and dynamic, that'll probably shamelessly pander to my own kinks. We all _know_ that Crowley is probably kinky as hell, and, well... I have thoughts about Aziraphale on that front. :D No idea how long it'll take, I'm supposed to be working on some entirely different writing projects that are actual "job" things, so it might be a while.
> 
> P.P.P.S If you'd like to see me talk about writing, my works in progress, other creative endeavors, and my life in general, check out [my Dreamwidth blog](https://bladespark.dreamwidth.org/).


	2. Epilogue

Radueriel was at the very bottom of the heavenly hierarchy.

Heaven was a place of order, so of course said hierarchy was neatly and clearly laid out by the powers that be. Radueriel was a malakhim, the least of the angelic choirs. He was also the last created and therefore youngest of said choir, and hadn't managed to distinguish himself in the War In Heaven, unlike many of his fellows, who at least had military commendations in their files. All he had were a handful of very mundane commendations for the usual malakhim messenger duties, “delivered on time despite blizzard” sort of things, but as every angel had at least a few of those, it hardly gave him any status. 

He'd rather been hoping to do something particularly heroic during Armageddon and climb the ranks a bit that way, but that hope had been quite thoroughly dashed, since nobody could get a wartime commendation if the war had been called off, so now he was probably stuck at the bottom of the heavenly heap for all eternity.

Technically two angels _had_ managed to participate in Armageddon, despite it not happening. At least for a given value of "participate."

One of those was Gabriel, Radueriel's boss and the one who had given him his current assignment. The other was Aziraphale, the extremely dangerous target of said assignment. Radueriel knew he'd been assigned to keep track of Aziraphale because he was expendable, so if the renegade angel who'd fraternized with a demon closely enough to somehow gain demonic power noticed that somebody was keeping tabs on him and got angry, Radueriel would presumably catch the worst of it and not Gabriel or some other senior angel. That was the way of things, and didn’t precisely upset Radueriel, though the thought of what Aziraphale might be able to do did make him more than a little twitchy.

The malakhim was not exactly _watching_ Aziraphale as such, that had been deemed far, far too dangerous. But he was tracking the renegade's rough location, and was also keeping track of his use of miracles. Radueriel had logged one a few hours ago, then two almost in a row, followed a little later by a third, and then a fourth and a fifth in quick succession. Radueriel had already been dithering at that point, when a sixth had popped up in his inbox. They were all minor, and he’d been told that Aziraphale was sometimes prone to frivolous miracles, but that seemed excessive. After quite a lot of arguing with himself, the malakhim decided that it was unusual enough for him to risk turning on the visual surveillance and seeing what on Earth Aziraphale was up to. It took him a little bit longer to nerve himself up for it, but finally Radueriel sent a spark of divine power into the monitor that floated above his heavenly desk, bringing it to life.

The monitor was pre-set to Aziraphale himself, and apparently whoever had used it last had left it zoomed quite closely in, for all Radueriel saw at first was a swathe of bare skin. The thought "Why on Earth is he shirtless?" passed through the malakhim's head, along with, “And what are those peculiar noises?” but as he expanded the view those thoughts, and all others, were immediately pushed aside by a wordless mass of utter shock, as what Aziriphale was doing—and with who—became apparent.

Eventually, when Radueriel managed to have a coherent thought again, said thought was that he definitely shouldn't keep watching this. He wasn't sure what it actually was, but it looked extraordinarily sinful. And not just because it involved a demon. He did not, however, actually turn off the monitor. Something about this whatever it was—perhaps this was fraternizing?—was compelling, even hypnotic. Radueriel couldn't look away.

So as Crowley taught Aziraphale at least some of what he’d learned in six thousand years of tempting mortals to sin, and got a fairly good start on crossing things off the list of “Stuff I’ve fantasized about doing with Aziraphale”, the malakhim Radueriel accidentally got an education of his own, which lasted until the sun began to shine in through the broad, mirrored windows of Crowley’s apartment and the pair indulged in a shower rather than a final bit of miracle cleaning, then dressed and went out to what was quite possibly the world’s best brunch together, though the food had nothing to do with that categorization. At that point Radueriel finally managed to reach out a trembling hand and shut the monitor down, never to be turned on again.

That bit of accidental voyeurism was the reason that Heaven never did manage to bother Aziraphale again, at least not in the normal course of operations. They probably would have eventually, were any truthful reports about what he was up to delivered to the folks Upstairs, but Radueriel was so haunted by what he’d seen and heard—the genuine love between angel and demon lingered with him even when the debauched sex acts finally began to fade just a little bit—that he never again actually looked at what Aziraphale was up to, and his reports insisted that it was nothing whatsoever save going about a bland life pretending to be a mortal bookseller.

Thus angel and demon lived together for a great many years, unmolested, until certain events managed to cause them to bother their former allies again, but that, and the reason why Hell also left them alone, is another story entirely…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist this silly little extra bit.
> 
> Now with a rather strange sequel in which what made Hell decide to leave the pair alone is explored, along with demon binding, cosmic powers, and lots of other things, but mostly really kinky sex. [Angel's Grace Loosed and Black Starfire Bound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20240302/chapters/47969437). Yes, it's a ridiculous title. It's a kind of ridiculous story.


End file.
